


Happy Birthday, Mr. Rogers

by sashach



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, English translation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5541347?view_full_work=true">Merry Christmas, Mr. Rogers</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5604946?view_full_work=true">Happy New Year, Mr. Barnes</a>.</p><p>PS: It helps to read the first two fic before reading this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imbrian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbrian/gifts).
  * A translation of [Happy Birthday, Mr. Rogers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166510) by [Imbrian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbrian/pseuds/Imbrian). 



> If you ever wonder what happened since the reunion of Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes, here it is. As usual, this translation is not proofread, any mistakes are my own. if you found any grammar or vocabulary mistakes, please let me know. English is the official language of my country, but i obviously suck at it. Also, I'm really terrible at translating smut.

Steve Rogers is undoubtedly, absolutely old-fashioned. For instance, he draws all his manuscripts himself, line by line, stroke by stroke, without the assistance of drawing softwares. Computer drawing saves a lot of time, but he’d rather use his own hands.

And when he starts on a new piece, the surface of the desk in his office would be invaded by a box that contains pens and pencils of different sizes with different functions.

Although he’s moved to a different city, or rather, from the suburb to downtown; the only thing that remains the same is Joy sitting next to his desk, and his feelings for Bucky throughout the years. What’s even better now is Bucky would come into his office every once in while, stands next to him, holds his head and presses a light kiss there. “Don’t work too late.”

Sometimes he would kiss Bucky’s arm in return, sometimes he would just put down his pen and goes back to the bedroom with his lover.

He likes undressing Bucky with his own hands. With his paycheck, Bucky can afford any brand, and wear whatever material he desires, be it handmade dress shirts or silk pajamas. But Steve thinks Bucky takes comfort and convenience into consideration when it comes to his own outfit. Or maybe Bucky is already in the environment he’s most comfortable in; he is confident with his profession and is able to display his expertise in his career. Back at home, they enjoy a relationship in which both of them are comfortable and happy.

Like what Daisy says to Ben in the movie, “ _It happened when it was supposed to happen_.”

“You have a little ink here…” breaths Bucky as he kisses his fingers, but he’s kissing Bucky’s shoulder blades; too occupied to response. “Are you the last comic artist in the world to color his work by hand?”

He turns Bucky’s shoulder gently and plants a kiss on his pink nipple. Then he supports the upper half of his own body to gaze at the brunet smiling lazily under him. “I’m not the only one who is nostalgic…”

Under the dim light, Steve’s ink-stained hand slides across the skin of Bucky’s milky white waist and invaded the most intimate area between his ass cheeks. Bucky’s smile disappears as his knuckle enters. It’s taken over not by pain, but a mixed emotions of nervousness and eagerness.

If the tip of Bucky’s tongue ventures out during foreplay to test his senses, he swears to God—

“Hey…” says Bucky, a little rattled. Steve has suddenly exerted more strength on the other hand and pulled the man lying on the bed closer to the epicenter of his desire. “Not so rough…”

Steve lowers his head and buries the tip of his tongue and his lips between Bucky’s ass cheeks, licking the entrance wet, attentively and slowly.

Bucky’s body hair is not especially thick, but between his thighs, there’re some brown hair on his balls, softly brushing against the bridge of Steve’s nose. He frees a hand to hold Bucky’s cock, stroking it cautiously.

When they first started living together, Bucky had been nervous about sex. Sometimes a small gesture from Steve, be it swallowing after blowing him, or licking his hole, like what he’s doing now, would had him at a loss.

It was when Bucky begged him to be harder that Steve understood his tenderness had scared Bucky.

He is Bucky’s one and only, as is Bucky to him; but he can’t remember if he had taken his demands on Bucky for granted when he was younger. He has been looking at Bucky from the same viewpoint: he is a piece of art that should be cherished most dearly.

When he’s licked Bucky’s cock enough to get it eagerly erected, Steve squeezes some lube on his fingers and slides one finger gradually into the tight channel that is going to embrace him later.

After massaging the insides of Bucky for a while, he adds more fingers to make sure it’s ready to take in his entire length. Bucky lets out a soft moan. “Oh… Stevie…”

He takes that as an invitation. Having teased every sensitive part of Bucky’s body, he slowly sinks himself inside him, his eyes gazing at the blue-green lake that slips shut every once in a while from the pressure of being breached.

Steve kisses Bucky’s pale white knee. Palms spread, he holds his hands on each side of Bucky’s hips and pushes steadily to the deepest part until there’s no gap between them.

“Hng… No… Stevie…” Between breaths, Bucky reaches out his hands and encircles them around the neck of the man above him. “Man… do you have to…”

“Yeah, Bucky. I have to spend so much time.” Steve smiles. Maintaining the position with their foreheads pressed against each other, he moves his waist slowly, allowing his cock to rub inside Bucky thoroughly. He’s not the only one going crazy from the heat where they’re connected; Bucky’s eyes are blinking frantically from the pleasure of friction.

Steve withdraws himself for a moment then thrusts back in again, holding himself deep inside this time, taking time to exchange deep kisses with Bucky.

Their kiss is intimate and drawn-out. Steve can feel himself sucking at Bucky’s lower lip as he nibbles the tiny folds on the lip surface with his teeth repeatedly. His tongue advances, pries open Bucky’s mouth and reaches inside. He sweeps the tip of Bucky’s tongue as it tries to swallow some saliva, interrupting the brunet’s desperate attempt to catch his breath. Steve cups Bucky’s face with one hand and pulls part slightly when the kiss ends, gazing into his eyes, watering from breathing difficultly.

Steve removes his hand from Buck’s face and puts them back on his waist. He looks at the side hurriedly to make sure the brunet’s legs are wrapped properly around his hips and gets ready to move.

“Stevie…”

Bucky’s broken moans is the best aphrodisiac for Steve. That tone is elicited from the uncontrollable heat in his body; sensation taking away all his senses. Steve feels assured he’s doing something right; Bucky sounds happy.

Bucky’s palms cling to Steve’s back, digging his neatly cut fingernails into it. There won’t be any bloodied bruises the next day, but there’ll be some finger prints. The blond curls his lips at that thought and his lowers his neck slightly to kiss the brunet’s arm.

He should be gentle, or finish earlier. Tomorrow is Thursday; a work day. Bucky won’t get enough sleep if they get too late; but Steve couldn’t help but pull Bucky up from the bed and sits him on his lap. Steve looks fixedly at the brunet who is hugging him firmly.

The angle where they’re joined has changed, from here—Steve slides his hands across Bucky’s waist and holds his ass cheeks with both hands—he can reach the spot that gives Bucky the greatest stimulation.

“We’ve to finish quickly,” kissing the shell of Bucky’s ear, Steve whispers, “you still have to work tomorrow.”

As though there’s an annoying worm at his ear, Steve can’t tell if Bucky’s anger is pretended or authentic, Bucky turns his head and bites his neck for revenge, then lets go of him gently.

 _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ Very vaguely, Steve thinks he hears Bucky saying those words with a sigh.

As he moves in rhythm with his desires, Steve looks at Bucky. He wants to know if he’s imagined those words, or if they are real.

But Bucky’s eyes are closed as he tilts his head against the crook of Steve’s neck, waiting for the waves of sensation to pass; he’s almost losing himself. Bucky is gripping him tightly from within, even his knees on each side of Steve’s waist are struggling to press onto something, desperately trying to prevent himself from drowning in the sensation, eventually swallowed by it.

Bucky spills. Very gently, Steve uses his hand to wipe away the pale white fluid from the tip and licks his hand clean before Bucky’s eyes.

They exchange kisses afterward and Steve comes from the waves of contraction within Bucky.

Bucky leans into Steve’s embrace, taking several deep breaths. A thin film of sweat surfaces on his shoulders, fused with the fragrance of the lemon shower gel in the bathroom, rise a little with each inhale. Steve settles his chin there.

“Don’t wanna move even a little?” asks Steve softly as his adjusts himself inside Bucky. “I can carry you to the bathroom?”

Bucky doesn’t answer; only turning his cheeks languidly, trying to find a better position to bury his face into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Did you say something?” Steve asks again. Basking in the afterglow, his lover has no intention to talk, but somehow Steve feels he didn’t imagine the words. 

Bucky arches his brow slightly and exhales and a long sigh. “Did I say anything?”

“I probably heard wrong.” Steve kisses the corner of Bucky’s lips. He envelops the man in his arms tightly, places his lower jaw at the part where the neck and shoulder meet, and rubs the tip of his nose against Bucky’s neck; long and slender like a swan. “Bucky…”

“What?” As he feels the stimulation against the sensitive spot in his body, the brunet suddenly understands. He sighs, “Yeah, Steve… you can do it one more time.” 

 

***

 

The rainy season in early summer in the suburb was long and wet.

James Barnes came home, dumped his school bag behind the couch absentmindedly and sunk himself into the couch. “Honey, is that you?” His mother’s enquiry came from the kitchen. He didn’t answer.

He wished he could just die on the cow leather couch from the lack of air.

“Hon…” The sound of his mother’s footsteps got closer, and the next moment she took off the baking mitts from her soft hands and rubbed his tensed shoulders gently. “Had a fight with your girlfriend again?”

That wasn’t news. He’d been acting weird at home for the past few weeks and his sister would just throw his relationship problems at the dining table without reservations to answer everyone’s questions.

“She seems to have a temper on her, you—” Hesitatingly, his mother drew circles on his shoulders encouragingly. “That’s how girls are. They want to spend more time with you, want more attention from you. She wants your eyes on her all the time.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t know how to tell his mother it was a boy. And the problem wasn’t about not spending enough time together; the other boy literally refused to get along with him even amiably. He’d lost track of Steve Rogers once again. He wasn’t reading in the library, nor was he drawing in any of the empty classrooms. James couldn’t find him in the comic store at the corner, and he wasn’t even in his bedroom next door.

“Girls at this age still don’t know their beauty comes from within; she doesn’t know she’s important to you because you love her, that she’s still on your mind even when she’s not around you. She has no idea she doesn’t have to worry about the things that happened when you’re out of her sight because she doesn’t know you miss her most when she’s out of your sight.”

The young man sat up to look at his mother and saw those comforting hazel-colored eyes. He dived into her warm embrace.

“First love is tough, James, but it’s not entirely a bad thing. I’m happy for you, I can see how much you like her. I’m happy for her, too. She’s a lucky girl and you’ve grown up so much…”

James knew what she meant when she said he’d grown up. Those weekend mornings when he would leave the house early and come back with a stupid grin on his face. Those memories of him filling a picnic basket with food, and driving Steve Rogers into the woods, watching him climb up a slope breathlessly, trying so hard to catch up with James—

“Oh, James,” his mother wiped away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Is it that bad?”

Steve Rogers was a punk. James didn’t answer his mother’s question. He lifted his hand to rub away the tears on his face carelessly. “Whatever. I don’t care…” About Steve Rogers. “I fucking have enough…”

“Language.”

He lifted his head to his mother’s chastisement and used his shoulders to wipe his face. “It sucks. I’m gonna spend the entire summer vacation in the mountains…” He took out a rubber band from his jeans pocket. “I’ll go the Philly myself in September.” He stood up and looked at his shirt, wet from the rain. Instead of unbuttoning, he tugged at the first two buttons, pulled the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. “Tell dad I’m taking his truck.”

“It’s only a girl.” The gentle voice of his mother followed him into the wardrobe. “I know it all seems painful…”

He looked into his mother’s eyes from the mirror.

“It’ll pass one day. I’m not worried you want to go to the cabin and spend some time in the mountains. Your father has trained you well. But this is your last summer before going to college, are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else? Like what your father said, you could even spend a year in Asia.”

He lowered his head, pulled out his mountaineering gear pack from the last shelves of the closet, grabbed two shirts and a jacket, and threw them into the backpack.

“Your father feels a little lonely. The mountaineering partner he’d nurtured refuses to go mountain climbing with him ever since he’s got a girlfriend. Why don’t you ask her to come with you? Surely she knows you love mountain climbing…”

He knew. He wanted to take Steve with him; but Steve knew how good he was. If he adjusted the climbing schedule because of the difference of their stamina, it would definitely upset Steve, and he didn’t want Steve to strain himself. Mountaineering was no joke. One step wrong could be life and death.

“I have to say, James, you have better choices, haven’t you? Rebecca says you’re one of the popular kids in school. I’ve no idea how high school works these days, but sometimes you should try seeing someone else, maybe you’ll look at it in a new light. She’s not the best—”

“There’s no one better, Ma.” He lowered his head as he zipped up his backpack. “No one.”

“Alright, sweetheart. The sun is setting soon, sure you don’t want to leave in dawn?”

“What’s the difference?” Putting on his jacket, the young man picked up a couple of CDs from the audio console without even looking. “I’m leaving.”

“Can we visit you? You’ll be at the lake, right?”

Winifred Barnes got her reply in the form of the opener chain of the garage door and the beeping sound of the radar when the car backed out.

“Was that James in the truck?” The young girl took down her earphones as she approached the yard. “Where is he taking the truck?”

“Says he’s going to stay in the mountains until school starts.” The woman looked at the young girl. “Where’s your school bag?”

“I dropped it on the lawn. Isn’t he supposed to be writing a report in the library today?” Rebecca Barnes glanced at the empty garage. “I thought he had a date or something…”

Just when she was wondering where James’ little boyfriend was, the young man, who was almost her height, dashed out from the alley between their houses. He looked sickeningly pale than usual. “Rebecca…” It took him a moment to realize the mistress of the Barnes residence was also there before he greeted her. “Mrs. Barnes. Is that… is that Bucky?”

The boy next door. Winifred saw the Rogers in the neighborhood all the time, but she hardly had any impression of the couple’s scrawny son. “Yes. So… you call him Bucky?”

“James lets everyone in school call him that.” Rebecca cut in the conversation, suddenly full of smile. She reached out her hand to pull the blond boy away. He almost slipped up. “I have a volunteer project to talk with Steve. Save dinner for me?”

The strength of the young girl hurt. Or maybe not. Steve only knew he’d missed Bucky.

“You shouldn’t come to our house,” Rebecca Barnes let go of the boy next door when they reached the edge of the woods. “Calling him Bucky in front of her. Nobody calls him Bucky. Only you.”

“I didn’t know.” Steve’s heart was thudding painfully from the running. “Is he coming back? I know he’s going to Philly, but is he…”

“Aren’t you going to dump him?” She may be one year younger than him, but high school was about popularity, not age. The teenage girl was almost as popular as her brother. She quirked her brow. “You didn’t even want see to him, I thought you’re gonna dump him? I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he seems to have made up his mind. Please, just leave him be.”

It was quite impossible to imagine the person who refused to let go was James.

The more she thought about it, as Rebecca Barnes walked away, the more she didn’t understand. James. It was James for Christ sake! What terrible prank was God trying to pull? Even if James was gay, James shouldn’t be the one clinging to Steve Rogers. That guy was a loser in school!

It just baffled her, and she couldn’t calm down. She turned around before going too far. “Hey, Rogers?”

The blond boy lifted his head and looked at her with a blank expression.

“Tell me what James likes about you, please? He’s been dating you for two years, surely you know the reasons.”

The blond looked at the sky. “The truth is, even I don’t know why.”

The rainy season in early summer in the suburb was long and wet.

He thought as rain fell onto his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th to my American readers, if any.

“Your first love. What’s she like… Nice girl?”

A long time ago, when he was at a bar in Santa Barbara with Sam watching an Europe soccer game, Sam had asked about Bucky unwittingly.

“Why are you asking all of a sudden?” Steve took a sip his beer, head held low.

“Dude, you turned down my girl’s offer to set you up so many times and all you told me was you can’t forget your first love. She wants to know your high requirements so that she can find someone enticing.” Sam Wilson’s girlfriend had been reminding him repeatedly to find out the details. He pushed another bottle of beer over to him. “Tell me about this mystery girl.”

“Sam, you’re really an important friend to me,” Steve was still not looking up. “So I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“See! I knew it!” Sam slumped against the back of his chair heavily. “You’re just not interested. There’s no perfect first love—”

“I did have one.” Steve sat back, smiling. “And if you say perfect, I can’t find a better word to describe _him_.”

Upon hearing the keyword, Sam’s eyes widened. Then he nodded understandingly. “Got it. We’ll only set you up with handsome dudes, don’t you worry.”

“I’m afraid I’m still gonna say no,” sighed Steve. “Because I won’t like someone else.”

“Tell me what he was like. Man, you can’t just ruin the fun for her to set you up. She always tells me, ‘Look at Rogers, so talented, but always alone…’”

“I guess she just doesn’t you to come drinking with me?” Steve quirked his brow. “Don’t worry, you’re not my type. Is that how they say it now? I don’t think anyone says not my cup of tea anymore…”

“Just tell me,” he knocked his bottle against the blond’s new bottle of beer; untouched. “I’m all ears.”

“Popular, top student, Ivy League,” Steve threw out a couple of words. “Undoubtedly handsome, tall and lean…” He took a sip of the bubbly beer and paused his description as he choked on the bubbles. “…Eldest of four children, liked rock-climbing, mountain-climbing, camping.”

“Whoa, hold it there. Those are some high requirements. Had he been a same-sex marriage advocate since he was a kid?” The blond couldn’t help but smile. “Too perfect. How did you two even meet in a suburbia high school?”

“Luck.” Steve put down his beer and pursed his lips. “Meeting Bucky was the luckiest thing in my life. But no, no one came out. I was his friend at first. I still have no idea how things went from there to the last stage.” The man took a big gulp of his beer and smiled humorlessly. “Why did someone as perfect as him like me…”

“Well, that’s not too difficult to understand.” No idea where those discouraging thoughts came from, Sam waved for another bottle of beer. “You’re tall and ripped. Devastatingly handsome.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I was only this tall back then, and…” He pushed the coaster where he’d drawn a unicorn to his friend. “My grades were average. The only thing worth mentioning was I drew comics for the school paper. He knew I was drawing for the school paper before we even knew each other.”

“Appreciates your talent. That makes sense. And look which publisher are you working for now? He had good judgement.” Sam didn’t know where did those depressing thoughts come from. “Steve. Dude, you think too little of yourself. You’re definitely not as bad as you think. I know guys like him. Fortunate kids like him don’t patronize you unless you’re good enough.”

“No, Bucky wasn’t the one of those spoilt kids.” His descriptions were too vague. Those words were too simple. They didn’t show every aspects of Bucky’s goodness. “He came from a good family, he was popular; but he was also very grounded. He had some friends…” Come to think of it, he was Bucky’s best friend. Before they were together, he and Bucky were inseparable; after they started dating, they were joined at the hip all the time.

“He doesn’t have to be a spoilt brat, Steve, I mean…” Sam took the unicorn and slid the coaster into one of the compartments in his wallet. “People like him, who’re so good at everything like you said, they can see the good traits in other people. He saw yours, too. Could be your talent. Or your stubborn brain attracted him especially. Hey, look at me, singing you praises. Anyway, people may change. But the traits you acquired when you were a kid? They don’t change so easily. You’re a good man.”

Steve smiled. “That wasn’t what you said when I missed my deadline.”

“You’re one of a kind, Steve.” The unusually serious man looked fixedly at the most brilliant comic artist he’d ever known. “It shows in your story. Beautiful images, intricate work; many people can do that, you’re not the only one. But the stories you tell, no one can replace that. Every character goes from being nothing to being something. Their development, their struggles. It’s convincing because you’ve been through the same process.”

“Maybe,” the blond lowered his head. “But I didn’t feel convincing at that time. I was a loser through and through. At least that was how other people saw it. The gap between us was too big. I was from a different world.”

“Your evolvement isn’t just your effort in your career, Steve,” Sam couldn’t help but speak again. “You’ve been through failures but each and every time you stand up to challenges. These are the things that make you who you are today. I’d say he liked you for your persistence. You knew you were going to fail, but you still tried. That’s what makes you special.”

Upon Sam’s words, Steve Rogers wondered if he’d forgotten something.

“If you really like him, you shouldn’t miss your chance with him.” Sam Wilson took out his coaster. “I know some guy, gimme his name. I’m sure we can find a way to contact him, see how he is. If you still stand a chance.”

A stretch of time went by, Steve still didn’t give him a name.

“Steve?”

“He got into Penn U. We celebrated together that day. He took a bottle of champagne from his family’s wine cellar and we drove to forest in the mountains to finish the bottle. And then we opened the car roof. It was a starry night. If you drove far enough, far from the neighborhood, far from light pollution, you could almost see all the stars…”

Pushing away the bottle of beer, Steve Rogers raised up the empty tapered glass before him to the bartender and asked for hard liquor.

“He said a lot. Said he’d thought about… He said he wanted a stable job. He wanted a dog; not one of those especially cute ones. And he wanted to buy an old apartment near downtown,” Steve finished the liquor with a gulp and smiled bitterly. He pushed out the glass for refill. “And he wanted to be with me, till the end of the line.”

“For an eighteen year old boy, that’s a concrete and romantic dream, don’t you think?” Sam Wilson didn’t know why it took a couple glasses of hard liquor for Steve Rogers to say those words.

“I said to him, ‘Bucky, don’t make promises you can’t keep.’” Even the bartender frowned when he heard that. Steve accepted the reproach.

“Why did you say that? Was it because you felt inferior?” sighed Sam. “I have to say you’re really good at being a downer.”

“I wasn’t thinking. For me, at that time, he was going away, leaving the suburb that bored him to death. He had a great future ahead of him. I just wanted to tell him he shouldn’t make promises about something that was so far away. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, on the contrary…” Pressing the edge of the glass against his forehead, Steve closed his eyes. “I wanted the promise to come true more than anyone else.”

“And you had a fight and broke up?”

“No. He just smiled. He didn’t take my word seriously. We still saw each other, we still went on dates, but I felt more and more… Maybe I should be the one to end it all.” The blond’s expression was confused. “Maybe he didn’t want to hurt me. I should be the one to have the courage to end it.”

“Dude, even I can’t listen to you any—”

“—And I didn’t say anything. I just kept disappearing on him, until he left my life completely.” They didn’t really end it, but it was far more painful than ending. “So, no thanks, Sam. I don’t deserve getting him back. It’s not worth trying. The truth is, I don't deserve anyone because obviously I can’t cherish the person who loved me.”

 

***

 

Bucky has already left for work when Steve wakes up. The apartment is silent, the empty side of the bed is cold.

He’s dreamed about his conversation with Sam in the past, it’s so vivid the moment he opens his eyes he feels fully awake. He’s going to get himself a glass of water when Joy’s long, slender body flashes by the door. He hears the sound of Bucky putting down his keys quietly on the table. “Shh… Joy, don’t wake daddy up.”

He leaves the bedroom and sees Bucky, casually dressed, standing in the living room with a bag of groceries, holding a postcard from god knows who in his hand.

Apart from Sam and his parents, nobody knows Steve lives here now. Curiosity is written all over Bucky’s face; the postcard is obviously for Steve.

“Sarah says it’s dull on the cruise ship watching Joseph play poker everyday. He’s invincible.” He presses the postcard against his chest. “So… your parents call me Bucky.”

“Yeah, they’ve always call you Bucky,” Steve says softly as he takes the groceries from him. “It’s Thursday, are you…” One hand wraps around Bucky’s waist slightly. “Under the weather?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky uses the postcard as a barricade between their faces. “Be a good son and take the postcard…”

“What’s the big news?” Not knowing why Bucky is so impatient, Steve releases his hand and takes the postcard. He skims through a couple of sentences casually and finally understands the content. By the time he lifts his head up, Bucky has long disappeared into one of the rooms.

Steve lowers his head to read the last paragraph:  
_When are you going to marry Bucky? Your father and I have to make arrangements for the plane tickets; you must let us know beforehand. You obviously have your heart set on that boy and you’re only happy when you’re with him. If you didn’t drive him away with that temper of yours, you’re a lucky man. My dear Steve, you’re truly a lucky man._

There’s another paragraph at the end of the other side:  
_Dear Bucky, if you read this postcard first, I must give you a hug and press several kisses on your cheeks. You’re not only the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but also the kindest. Steve must have used up all his luck in his entire life to be able to meet you again._

Steve puts the postcard on the coffee table, goes into the apartment and finds Bucky in the kitchen. He’s opened the fridge but he just sits there and stares at the fridge.

Steve clears his throat and says very slowly, “I wanted to propose to you on your birthday, so I wrote them an e-mail, saying I was making preparations for the wedding. They were very happy…”

“But you didn’t,” facing the fridge, Bucky suddenly reaches out a hand and arranges the glass jars inside. “I… Steve, I’m still scared of you, you know that?”

“I know.” Embracing the brunet gently from behind, Steve kisses his temple, hoping to chase away all his fears. “I wanted to wait for some time. See if you’d kick me out, like what Ma said. If it doesn’t happen, I’ll ask you to be with me…” Thinking about the promise Bucky had made back then, he added, “‘Till the end of the line?’”

“I still don’t know why you didn’t want to see me all of a sudden.” The brunet shut the fridge with his left hand; the one that had been injured. “That really hurt. I wasn’t over it until that time when I went mountain climbing in Canada. I fell…” He glances at his left hand. “While waiting for rescue, I kept staring at the starry sky. I guess I got it straightened out at that time. I couldn’t really hide in the world’s end. Even if you were not in this world, I still had to move on…”

Steve catches Bucky’s left hand and puts his fingertips at his lips and kisses them attentively.

“In the end…” Bucky looks at him. “You came back. Back to the lifeless suburb. The place you wanted to run away from.”

They wanted to run away from that place. It was a typical middle-class family stereotype, as if everyone knew what to do to win in life. All the kids were clones of their parents; carrying the expectations of their parents, duplicating their success stories.

“Is the West Coast good?” Bucky sounds tired. “Can I quit my job and go live there with you?”

“Of course you can.” Steve replies immediately; he doesn’t know why Bucky has that thought out of the blue. He reaches out a hand to cup the back of Bucky’s head. “Any time.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Bucky chuckles softly. “Sometimes I feel really tired about work. The exchange market is… a place that revels in the slightest commotion.” Bucky seldom complains about his job. “Why does the market value increase? What makes that conceited man… How many electric cars can Norway’s five million population afford?”

Pressing a kiss on Bucky’s temple, Steve draws small circles on his back, listening to his complaints in silence.

“And I’m really scared… Are you going to run away again without warning?”

“I’m not.” Steve promises softly by his ear. “Never again. It’s been too long without you by my side. Too long. I can’t stand it. Sometimes I felt you would appear if I closed my eyes. Sometimes… sometimes the dreams were long, but you weren’t in them. I think it’s better to be able to hug you like this when I’m awake.”

But Bucky pushes him away. Not too forceful; solely to pull away their distance. “I guess we shouldn’t lay our cards all at once.” The brunet opens the fridge again and takes out a bottle of sparkling mineral water. “I bought fresh lemons—”

“Bucky—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!”

Steve purses his lips. “So it wasn’t my imagination last night. You did say that.”

“I did,” Bucky’s volume returns to normal. “I did say that. And I think everything… I feel everything is like a dream. I can’t convince myself… I find it hard to believe…”

“I don’t need you to convince yourself, or believe me,” Steve tries to lean forward to hold him again. “I just need you to be here. Let me prove it to you.”

Steve knows from the bottom of his heart the young man who’d gone hiding in the mountains never did fully recover from the heartbreak. He couldn’t find his boyfriend anywhere; dumped without a word. One could climb the highest mountain, breath in the thinest air, and still couldn’t forget that feeling.

“Bucky, those years without you made me saw clearly.” The blond rests his forehead against the other man’s and says softly, “I couldn’t imagine having someone else with me except you. I went back to the suburbs because I knew… I knew I could find most of your traces there. The woods we’d been to, the theater we went on dates to… I’m sorry, I thought after everything I’d done to you, the best ending for us was never to see each other again.”

The brunet tries to jerk his shoulders to pull away from the blond’s embrace.

“But we’re here now, Buck, I don’t wanna lose you again. I didn’t grab hold of you back then. It was a mistake made by a stupid teenager. I never really belonged there. When I realized how comfortable I was with you, I was afraid that sense of belonging was an illusion. But I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Steve Rogers tightens the strength of his arms around the brunet, earning a protest from him. “Hey, that hurts.”

“I didn’t have a driver’s license back then. Couldn’t even catch up with you…”

Now that he has his motorcycle license, if he could go back to the day when his first love had ended, Steve would climb onto that dusty Harley in their garage and drive up the mountains, ride across the winding roads to catch up with Bucky and make up for all those years they’d lost.

 

***

 

“Happy birthday, Mr. Rogers.”

Beneath the Independence Day fireworks display, the waiter serves a bottle of pink champagne to the table as he congratulates one of them.

“It must be special to celebrate your birthday with America.”

“It’s okay.” When a plain silver band flows with the champagne and drops into the glass of the brunet sitting opposite him, he lifts his head. “But if you say yes, I think today is going to be a special day. What do you think, Bucky?”

**Author's Note:**

> Daisy and Ben is from _The Curious Case of Benjamin Button_.


End file.
